This is me on the day of my 15-year class reunion. I didn't know it at the time but I was less than a month away from having to give up a promising career. I was putting on a good face for my old classmates and talking about how good things were, but if I was fooling anyone it was most likely just myself. I sat there and talked with classmates who have gone on to have their own families and businesses. People who have moved on from who and what they were back when we were in school. Outwardly I'm a very different person than I was when I was in school, but internally I'm still the hot mess I was then.
I've been trying to deal with Clinical Depression since I was in 4th grade, that's 25 years or a little less than 75% of my life. At the beginning of 2018, I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder in addition to the Clinical Depression, but I've most likely been dealing with it for the same length of time. I don't talk about these things because there is so much stigma surrounding mental health issues. Anyone who deals with mental health issues can understand the fear that accompanies being open about what you are going through. The fear that your neighbors or coworkers or even potential employers may find out "your secret" and use it against you. The even bigger fear that some well-meaning person who finds out will just tell you "it's all in your head" and that you should just "relax" or "smile, it'll make you feel better". They mean well, but it's not as helpful as they think. I'm well aware "it's all in my head" but that doesn't make it any less real. Telling us to "relax" or "smile" is like telling us that we're choosing to be the way we are. You wouldn't go up to someone in a wheelchair and tell them to just "walk", would you?
I'm actually amazed that I'm writing this. I just don't talk about my mental health. I'll talk to everyone and their cousin about my lung disease, hell it's basically my conversational ice-breaker these days. But depression or anxiety? Nope, that's not something I talk about. I let it fester in the back of my mind until it affects me physically. I withdraw from the world. I stop doing things I love to do. I don't even take care of myself the way I should.
A good example recently; I have to fill out paperwork every year in order to get the medication for my lung disease directly from the manufacturer because of how expensive it is. Without this medication the lung disease will progress unchecked, destroying my lungs and eventually (sooner rather than later) killing me. This is quite literally a life or death aspect of my reality. It's February right now and I haven't filled out that paperwork. I'm a month and a half into the new year and I haven't done this one simple thing, all because I've let my depression take the wheel and I don't feel like I deserve to take care of myself. To make myself eat, I have to make a meal for more than just myself. If my brain thinks I'm just making food for me, I can't do it. I feel like I don't deserve to eat because I'm not contributing anything to the household.
I'm not contributing anything because I haven't worked since I had to walk away from what was shaping up to be a promising career as an insurance agent because my anxiety levels went through the roof after I received actual death threats from people who've never met me all because some woman decided she was going to use me as her ticket to her 5 minutes of fame. I was actually investigated by the State Police, and found completely innocent of any wrongdoing, with my information circulated online and via the news as a result of her actions. That happened in May or June of 2018 and to this day I'm scared of being in public. I couldn't go to appointments or speak to people and so I had to resign from my job as an insurance agent. That was at the beginning of November and I still haven't been able to find a new job. So I've been sitting at home, being a drain on resources and falling deeper and deeper into depression.
Then my Sage Kitty got sick. One of the few things in my life that consistently brought me joy, no matter how depressed I got, was my Sage Kitty. I would get into a funk and she would climb on my chest and purr her little heart out and headbutt me in the face until I would either break down in tears while hugging her or would start smiling. Either one would make me feel better and help me move forward and pull myself out of the darkness. She got sick and there wasn't anything I could do to save her, so she died. I depended so much on her for help and now she's gone and so is that last little furry barrier in my mind from the worst of my own thoughts. Not until she died did I ever think of ways to die. For the first time in my life that darkness has been unleashed on my mind.
I have to trick myself to eat, or get dressed, or even just brush my hair some days. I'm a mess and I can't even convince myself that I can get better. I stay in bed and sleep because then I'm not a further burden on resources that are already stretched thin. I failed to take care of my Mom like I promised myself I would after Dad died. When she stopped working at Walmart, which was killing her according to her Doctor, I was supposed to be the one working and providing for us. Now I'm just a burden.
What depression looks like is me.
